


Heatstroke

by th3rm0pyl43



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing, combat zone shenanigans, gratuitous fanservice, jungle mission!Veers, space cuirassier body appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th3rm0pyl43/pseuds/th3rm0pyl43
Summary: In a jungle full of Rebel guerrilla fighters and homicidal wildlife, Colonel Veers insists that camouflaging body paint provides more protection than cold, hard plastoid. Major Sarethi is slowly losing her kriffing mind.





	

Major Denna Sarethi was not sure what was making her headache worse by the greater amount - the consequences of her attempt to wash away boredom-induced frustration with Corellian brandy, the blistering heat that had resulted from this nameless dirtball’s sun bathing the surface in intense yellowish light, or the fact that her superior thought it appropriate to stroll through a tropical warzone in no more than sturdy shoretrooper trousers and waterproof combat boots.

“ _Sir!_ ” she hissed in Colonel Veers’ direction for what must be the fifth time within that rotation, her dirt-smudged, scorched helmet’s vocoder crackling. “With respect, I do _not_ approve of the CO exposing themself so readily to enemy fire under any circumstances, and this is no exception!”

Veers did not listen, of course. His hearing was no less keen than any of Sarethi’s soldiers’; nevertheless, her concerns had been falling on deaf ears for three rotations so far. She was unshakably convinced that unless he put on at least a helmet and chestplate, he was going to get himself shot by a deadeye enemy sniper - or worse, by her own sharpshooters who might confuse him with one of the predatory felines that roamed the jungles.

The Colonel might not walk on four clawed paws or possess a coat of fur, Sarethi thought begrudgingly, but with the green and brown camo paint generously smeared all over his face and bare upper body and the trousers and boots in earthy colors covering the rest, he blended in with the lush environment almost as effectively as those feral creatures did; nevermind the fact that his mere physique had already prompted one of the bucketheads to elbow their buddy as he passed and quietly call him, quote, “a beast”.

Out of the corner of her eye, the Major watched her superior squat next to a resting TX-225 tank - _her_ tank - with a fluid motion to offer a field mechanic some assistance with patching up the armored vehicle’s battered treads. A small voice in her head squeaked indignantly that he was outranking his job again, and another produced a dreamy remark on the full shape of the Colonel’s shoulders and wondered aloud how much he might be able to bench press.

Sarethi shook her head to clear it. Must be the heat getting to her. It _had_ to be.


End file.
